On May 29, 2020 my Center Chief messaged me while I was at my desk.

“Hey Shala. I need a favor.”

“Sure. How can I help?”

“I am going to pop by your desk to explain.”

And before I know it, there she is continuing her thoughts.

“I want to send out a note to the office about the recent events that have been happening, but I don’t want to assume anything, and I also want to ensure I have the right tone. I didn’t want to make this awkward, but I would love if you could read it for me and provide any feedback.”

I am sure you’ve guessed a few things by now:

• My Chief is white. In fact, all the managers are in my office.
• She wanted to address the George Floyd (and many others) killing, protests, and unrest that had occurred over the past three days.
• I am one of the few black people in my office (and the only black person who was there that day).

I told her to send me her note and how I appreciated her addressing this issue. And I truly did because in the five years that I have been with this organization, I don’t recall ever once receiving any acknowledgement or recognition of the many cases of police brutality and killings of unarmed black people.

We are talking Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, Sandra Bland, Freddie Gray and SO many others with not one peep from my immediate office or the entire organization (a note was sent out about the five Dallas police officers who were killed though).

My Chief’s letter was sincere and written very well, but I did share one piece of feedback.

I explained how more than feeling vulnerable, angry, and fearful, me and most people I know are simply tired.

We are exhausted to see this happen again and again and again.

And I told her that this tiredness can bring a spirit of weariness and despair that she and other non-blacks may never understand.

My Chief appreciated my feedback and added the tired portion in. And later that day, many of the black people in our office expressed their appreciation for her sending the note.

I also sent her a personal email about it because her actions were much needed during this time, and I hoped they served as an example for all managers in my organization.

Employees don’t leave their blackness at the door when they go to work. These issues have profound affects on the black community—how we see and interact with others, our mental and emotional states, and our morale— and it’s helpful for our management teams to address them.

Recognizing issues affecting our community shows that you recognize us and our experience as black people.

Now, I can understand that many non-black managers may feel uncomfortable or unsure about doing something like this, especially when they want and need the black perspective.

My Chief made it clear that she didn’t want it to be awkward in her asking me to speak on behalf of all black people.

However, I believe that a situation like this calls for our non-white colleagues, managers, and friends to seek our perspective otherwise they may still take a biased approach. We all know that even when someone has the best and most genuine intentions, they can still cause more harm than help.

Instead of seeing her request as singling me out or stereotypical to assume black people can only speak on black topics, I welcomed it as an opportunity to help educate my non-black colleagues and managers about the black experience.

For centuries, the black voice in America has been silenced.

But now, especially in the workplace and around our white counterparts, we cannot be afraid to speak up.